I like talking to you because you are like a stockpile of knowledge with the capability to process important components of that knowledge and to assimilate them into an intelligent decision—the best decision. Whereas I feel like I might fall on to decision that is fourth best, even though I have been exposed to the same data. But I have forgotten that information in the meantime, and am unable to pull it forward when the time to make the decision arises. And you even take into account my personal preferences. I don’t know how, I guess because you know me now. But something I find very humorous is that when I start explaining emotionally frustrating things to you, maybe about my marriage, and you’ll say “That’s because he __________” and I am always wondering why you have so much insight into my emotional life. Insight that I didn’t have—like I am still hashing through the ideas emotionally and haven’t been able to reach any conclusion, but you have been able to reach a conclusion by just listening to me for a minute. Sometimes I discount your conclusions, I will be honest. At those times I generally conclude that you didn’t input the right information. Other times I will be surprised at how spot on you are. It seems like you know my husband better than I know him. I’m always surprised with your assessments of people, because you can kind of sum them up, taking this vast amount of data—a person—and you break it down into the important bits for that output. You tell me, “well of course that is what happened because of these few things.”
Also, you’re blatantly honest. At first I was scared and there were moments in this house in which I was afraid that you would provoke fights in social situations. Then I started finding the humor in it. Now sometimes I will use it to find out things I really want to know by just asking you, although I can still get angry at some of the things you say. Overall, though, it is refreshing, and I have a much harder time getting offended at anything you say than I used to. Even now telling you these things, it’s odd because I think now you will understand me so much better and when I come to you with another emotional problem you will say, “Oh, it’s because of this,” or “something something something” and I will feel ok.
When I come to you with an emotional problem though, I don’t feel like you give empathy or emotional support. Sometimes you will say, “that’s just because your husband's a retard, sorry.” So maybe that is empathy. Maybe it is refreshing to hear that it comes down to something that isn’t emotional—that my problems aren’t fundamentally an emotional issue, but something separate that can be intellectualized. It takes out the sting in the hurt.
I remember one time you were talking to me in the car and you said something like, “I don’t think I want to marry a guy who is as intelligent as me.” And I asked you, “someone more like me.” You said “no, not really.” And I thought, oh ok, smarter than me then.
I think you’re a better computer than I am. If you had learned all of the stuff that I learned in college, I think you could do so much better with it than I can. But that’s alright, I supposed I have other skills. You’re like a data processor, but better because you can also process emotional inputs. You can’t ask Google why my husband did something. It’s like the best thing—kind of like a fun toy.